Transmigrated as the Disabled Alpha of the Yandere Film Empress - Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

A streak of orange still lingered on the horizon.

 

Clack. The brick slipped from Su Jia’s hand, tumbling heavily down the steps. She looked utterly spent—her spirit all but drained.

 

Song Yanrong’s wheelchair rolled closer to her. The Omega didn’t speak; she simply gazed at her.

 

Su Jia thought: Song Yanrong came faster than she expected. The feeling was strangely profound, especially seeing the unmistakable worry in her eyes.

 

It felt like a thin, fragile balloon—or any shape that could hold someone up—squeezing against the barren void of her chest: elastic, rhythmic.

 

Song Yanrong’s gaze landed on Su Jia’s arm—muscles tensed under pale skin. She couldn’t fathom what Su Jia had gone through.

 

She inhaled sharply and asked, “Besides your arm, is anywhere else injured?”

 

Her gaze traveled from Su Jia’s cheeks down to her feet. Initially, those legs had given her bitter despair—but now, they horrified her.

 

She wanted to help Su Jia up, to carry her into the car, but couldn’t. That helplessness filled her with guilt.

 

Su Jia’s voice was hoarse as she asked, “What happened to your knee?”

 

Song Yanrong looked down. Her black pants had gray smudges—she must’ve tipped over the wheelchair in haste just now.

 

“It’s fine… can you stand up?”

 

Su Jia hesitated two seconds before nodding. “Yes.”

 

“Any injuries to your legs?”

 

“I don’t know.” Her eyelashes trembled; a breeze might topple her. “Song Yanrong… I was really scared just now.”

 

Su Huimin froze, startled. Demonic…, she thought; Su Jia had looked like a vengeful spirit. When she flung the dog at her, she was sure the brick would strike her own head!

 

But now? She didn’t dare speak, only prayed these ancestors would leave fast.

 

Song Yanrong said softly: “I came late.”

 

“No—I know you came as fast as you could,” Su Jia said, eyes drifting to Song Yanrong’s injured knee.

 

Song Yanrong’s peripheral gaze softened, as if weighing a gathering snowstorm.

 

“Bring her here.”

 

K carried Su Jia to Song Yanrong and pressed Su Huimin’s back to the ground.

 

“Miss Song, I…”

 

Before Su Huimin could plead, Song Yanrong slapped her sharply in the face. She fell over; K hauled her up.

 

Slap—

 

Another smack landed.

 

Echoing in the courtyard only the crisp sound of each slap.

 

Song Yanrong struck her six times, until Su Huimin’s face flushed red and swollen—like Su Jia’s wounded arm.

 

Then K dropped her beside the injured dog and handed her a damp towel.

 

Song Yanrong ignored her, gathering Su Jia’s gaze. She wiped the filth from the corner of Su Jia’s hair—and her hand—gently, matter-of-factly.

 

“Let’s go to the hospital.”

 

Her tone was firm yet controlled, her expression guarded. She took Su Jia’s good hand and led her out.

 

Once outside, she asked K quietly, “Is she okay?”

 

K looked ashamed. “She fainted—sorry, Miss.”

 

“You didn’t bring her into a trap—no blame.”

 

She paused, then whispered to K: “Su Jia likes dogs, right? Get some for her yard. And deal with the neighbors—no more disruptions.”

 

“Yes, Miss.”

 

“And Su Huimin’s debt collectors?”

 

“I’ve informed them.”

 

Song Yanrong nodded slowly. She hadn’t felt so personally targeted in years. She had a reputation: when wronged, she inflicted retribution.

 

Su Jia listened to Song Yanrong’s plans—those collectors weren’t the kind of people one crossed lightly. Forcing them and warning neighbors about dogs would terrify Su Huimin daily.

 

Only then could Su Huimin truly fear for the first time.

 

And Song Yanrong was handling it all. Su Jia thought—if such a person had cared for her back then, how different her life might’ve been.

 

Not too late yet. Good people tended to be easier to talk to—and kind to have around.

 

She watched Song Yanrong’s hand. It was just a little larger, a little longer than hers. It felt warm—not just because of summer, but because earlier Su Jia had washed off the bl00d beneath the tap.

 

…

 

They climbed into the car.

 

Song Yanrong instructed them to take her to a nearby clinic—not the distant city hospital, lest Su Jia tire.

 

She turned off the A/C and covered Su Jia with a blanket.

 

The scene reminded her of the night they first fled together: Su Jia damp and wrapped in a blanket at her side.

 

From the medical kit, she took iodine and said, “Hold out your hand.”

 

Su Jia obediently offered it.

 

“Bear with it.” The alcohol stung. “Let me know if anything else hurts.”

 

Song Yanrong frowned, anger and concern tangled on her brow—blaming Su Huimin’s cruelty, Zhou Yuan’s malice, and Lady Zhou’s cold tolerance.

 

“None other?”

 

“I think not.”

 

They neared the clinic when Su Jia, perched at the edge, fell asleep. She woke two minutes later, trembling—eyes snapping open.

 

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Song Yanrong soothed softly from beside her.

 

Su Jia didn’t turn toward her voice; instead, she gazed at her window’s reflection, as if it bore witness.

 

She closed her eyes but couldn’t return to sleep.

 

Outside, the world continued: car wheels on pavement, pedestrian voices, horns, cicadas. Just like that night—but now she wasn’t consumed with dread.

 

In the clinic, Su Jia needed two stitches for the dog bite—and to continue rabies shots for five doses.

 

When the doctor asked, Su Jia insisted, “No anesthesia for me—just two stitches.”

 

Song Yanrong frowned, “It’ll hurt.”

 

Su Jia nodded firmly. She wanted to remember this pain.

 

Song Yanrong watched the needle break her white skin. As cold solution mixed with alpha pheromones on her skin, the sensations blurred—numb at first, then warmth, then full-bodied heat. Su Jia nearly forgot the pain.

 

She breathed deeply. The antiseptic and alpha scent made her skin tingle—it wasn’t enough.

 

…

 

Before leaving, the doctor emphasized the full rabies course.

 

Song Yanrong noticed Su Jia’s fatigue. Rush-hour traffic would delay them home, so they agreed to spend the night in a nearby hotel.

 

The town was far from bustling.

 

The so-called “hotel” was nothing more than a fancier name for a motel, housed in an eight-story building whose exterior bore signs of age. The lobby and front desk looked refurbished, but their facelift was obvious. The hotel had only three rooms with queen beds—two windowless rooms on the second floor, and one with a window on the fifth. Despite the distance, Song Yanrong insisted on getting off.

 

Between Song Yanrong, Su Jia, the bodyguard, and the driver, they barely fit.

 

They pressed the elevator buttons for the 2nd and 5th floors. Soon, the elevator stopped on the second floor. Song Yanrong reached out, and K passed her the shopping bag before exiting ahead.

 

Throughout check-in, neither Song Yanrong nor Su Jia spoke. They both sensed that Su Jia wasn’t in the mood.

 

When Song Yanrong opened the room door, a musty, humid smell enveloped them. Even the bathroom smelled faintly of cleaning agents. She frowned. If Su Jia didn’t need rest, she wouldn’t have stayed in such a place.

 

“Come in and freshen up. Change your clothes,” she said softly, pulling out the emergency white dress they’d bought earlier. “Make the water warm—but be careful not to get your arm wet.”

 

Su Jia didn’t think the place was that bad. She was utterly exhausted—her afternoon fight had drained her mental and physical strength, leaving her bone-tired. She just nodded and went into the narrow, stifling bathroom. The moment the door closed, she rested her back against it briefly before standing in front of the mirror. She stared at her reflection—the person looking back felt increasingly foreign.

 

Her hair was disheveled, her blue shirt torn and soiled around the waist from the attack, her face drained of expression. Then her eyes glistened with tears.

 

It was her—but not her.

 

A dull ache crept into her chest, sour and uninvited.

 

“Su Jia?”

 

Alpha-range toque against the frosted glass door suddenly caught her attention. She blinked, startled. Song Yanrong had been outside for a while without any sound of water. Whatever had happened earlier must’ve wounded her deeply—she hadn’t mentioned it again.

 

In a gentle voice she asked, “Would you like anything for dinner?”

 

No answer. She paused. Then the door opened with a soft creak.

 

Su Jia appeared, her eyes red, dazzling—her cheeks bloomed like petals. Song Yanrong froze, her heart fluttering, and her wheelchair almost edged forward before she caught herself. She reached out and grasped Su Jia’s hand, gesturing for her to lean in. Su Jia obliged.

 

Reaching out, Song Yanrong brushed a hand through Su Jia’s tangled hair and murmured, “Don’t cry. I’m here to protect you.”

 

That afternoon, as salty tears slipped silently down Su Jia’s face, she never expected how deeply she’d hold that moment in her memory.

And that became the day Su Jia would always return to—
The first summer of their acquaintance, an August evening,
the newly renovated motel
and the warmth she found in being cared for…

Su Jia lowered her head and gazed at Song Yanrong. Amidst the lingering scent of calm sedatives and aphrodisiacs, she suddenly wrapped her arms around her—pressing even her bloodied, discarded hair against the alpha’s neck.

 

“Song Yanrong.”

 

“…Yes?”

 

“I haven’t met anyone who cares for me like you do… in a long time.”

 

Song Yanrong thought to herself: But I didn’t really do anything… I’m not that good.

 

Su Jia continued, voice trembling, “You didn’t have to treat me so well.”

 

“Why not?” Song Yanrong asked.

 

She didn’t wait for an answer—nor fully grasp its meaning at the time.

 

Su Jia pressed her nose against Song Yanrong’s neck—only a thin layer of air keeping them apart. Just beyond that threshold was the alpha’s vulnerable gland.

 

She intentionally held back, whispering: “I told you… I really like your scent.”

 

Song Yanrong paused and murmured, “Hmm…” She fought the irritation in her skin, the involuntary stimulation.

 

“Do you hate me?” Su Jia asked softly.

 

“Why would you think that?” Song Yanrong replied.

 

Su Jia’s eyes glowed with an unusual need, her phylogenetic pheromones rising around the alpha’s scent glands—a confirmation of the law from her universe: her dependence disorder was taking hold. Just this closeness—this was more than enough.

 

She whispered, “I have the scent of bl00d on me now.”

 

“Do you? I don’t smell it,” Song Yanrong said.

 

Su Jia brushed a light laugh—uncertain, almost mirage-like. Song Yanrong hesitated, unsure if she’d actually heard it.

 

Then Su Jia’s lips pressed stubbornly against the gland on Song Yanrong’s neck.

 

Song Yanrong froze in surprise—and then pain, deep and sudden.

 

Su Jia had bitten her.

 

In that moment of shock, Song Yanrong ought to have pushed her away, but she didn’t. Instead she held Su Jia’s waist—barely recognizing the instinct. She’d forgotten the tear in Su Jia’s shirt; her hand reached inside, encountering the hot, sticky, sweat-soaked warmth.

 

Her fingers tightened, pressed against her thigh. She felt Su Jia’s breath deepen—an invitation.

 

Su Jia said, “I want you.”

 

Her voice was all emotion—gentle yet dangerously compelling.

 

With the gland still stinging, Song Yanrong clung to control. Missing the bite, but not the whisper.

 

“Do you want me?” Su Jia asked again.

 

It was a question laden with desire. A savage enchantment.

 

Despite no aphrodisiac, no heat cycle, the chemical pull burned.

 

Song Yanrong realized with a start: It was no longer rationality that guided her restraint—it was instinct.

 

The air in the stuffy room felt suffocating—air conditioning powerless against the tide of emotion and pheromones.

 

Su Jia waited, eyes fiery, face like a blooming peach blossom, flushed with want.

 

She tried to rise, pressing Song Yanrong’s shoulder. The alpha panicked—but her sense of self still flickered: she pushed Su Jia down gently.

 

Her face was solemn: “Look at me—I’m imperfect like this. My leg… I can’t—”

 

Still Seething with desire, Song Yanrong ceased speaking. She sensed the danger of letting go.

 

But Su Jia, like a cunning fox that played the pheromones, closed the distance once more, pressing her lips to the alpha’s gland.

 

Softly, she murmured in her ear:
“It’s okay. I’ll do it.”